Soundtrack to Her Smile
by TripUpStairs
Summary: Quinn has always had a way of looking at her, and Rachel is finally paying attention. It all starts with a song, a stage, and NYADA's spring musical.


**A/N:** Whew, this fic has been in the making for a long time, and I am so pleased to finally post it. As long as one person out there enjoys it, I'll be happy.

This fic is a bit more ambitious in scope than my previous longer oneshot, Dance Aloud. I will also say that this fic is composed of lots of fluff, some angst, and a lot of sap.

Regardless, I hope I did the idea justice, and if I not, I still enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**Soundtrack to Her Smile**

Rachel bounces on her toes. Anxious. Excited. The stage looms, welcoming her, beckoning her into its embrace. She takes a breath, steadying herself. It's a humble stage, but it's still a stage, and an audience waits just beyond.

Finally, the current performer finishes. She resists scoffing at calling the man a performer—a keyboard set to a single chord and a monotone voice is still a performance. He presented something he found worthy in front of an audience. That makes him a performer. She _shouldn't_ judge.

She shouldn't. It is an open mike night after all. It's anyone's chance to be a performer. No matter her feelings on said performance.

She's been a regular at UpTimes' open mike night for the past year. She thinks Jimmy really should just give her the floor for the whole night at this point. She's been drawing crowds. She knows it. Her whole audience knows it. Jimmy knows it. She's bringing in money for his establishment. Well, she's not entirely sure it's his. He is the manager at least, and maybe the owner. She'll have to ask him later—it's time to perform.

Jimmy, who hosts, announces her. There's applause. One certain section is especially loud, and her eyes scan the tables where her friends are gathered. She smiles and waves in their direction as Jimmy steps out of the way. Nearly everyone who matters to her now in her second year at NYADA is there. Everyone except Quinn, who will not be in New York until tomorrow. She banishes the sharp tinge of disappointment at the lack of Quinn's presence and puts on her show face. Jimmy backs away, leaving her the stage.

Rachel steps up to the mike, a flood adrenaline washing through her. The setting is intimate, but she likes it. It's colorful and special in its own way. UpTimes is a lounge and bar at night and a coffee shop during the day. She found it by accident when wandering the streets, trying to find an opportune moment to break into song. Okay, she might have actually been mulling over receiving her first ever "C" grade. But breaking into a spontaneous, choreographed musical number on the streets of New York is one of her biggest dreams so that was also certainly on her mind at the time.

She can feel the expectation from the audience, all eyes on her. She vibrates with life. She nods to the DJ, and the music starts. She momentarily wishes she had a band, but a stripped track will have to do. She closes her eyes as the first lyrics spill from her lips. At the chorus, she opens them again. She focuses on nothing and everything. The thump of the base. The rift of the guitar. The words falling from her lips effortlessly.

She's got three songs. Ten minutes total on the stage. And _Barbra, _it's fun. Her audience is clapping and whistling along. It's moments like this that she wonders how she ever doubted herself. She's made for the stage. She may be singing an 80s music set, but she's meant to be a performer. She knows it, the audience knows it, and Jimmy knows it. Besides, 80s music is _fun_ and she's having fun. So what if she was goaded into doing 80s songs by Santana?

In any case, while Pat Benatar may be known more for "Love Is A Battlefield," Rachel finds "We Belong" to be an excellent power ballad, and she _is_ getting into it. She smiles as she enters into the second verse, gesturing toward the tables holding her friends and specifically Santana. They cheer raucously, and Santana makes a rude gesture.

Rachel resists rolling her eyes and instead focuses back on the song, allowing herself to be carried away. Lyrics pass and at some point, she looks up, suddenly and inexplicably drawn toward UpTime's entrance. _"We can't begin to know it, how much we really care_. _I hear your voice inside me, I see your face everywhere—"_

It's in those words that her eyes land on mussed blonde hair and a lithe form shouldering into the bar. She continues with the song, but her eyes never leave Quinn. Because it is Quinn. Rachel knows that before the blonde figure ever looks up.

And when Quinn does—after reaching an open space in the crowd—and Rachel can make out the shadows of her features, she smiles. Her body is warm and pulsing with the music and pleasure of having everything. She imagines Quinn smiling too. Rachel wishes she could see her properly, out of the shadows. But that would have to wait. Besides, Quinn should be joining Santana and the others, and their area is illuminated by the golden glow of a couple of lamps.

Rachel closes out "We Belong" on a high, leaving herself and the crowd breathless. She tries to hide her smile as UpTimes explodes into applause a second after the close of her ending note.

She sees Quinn waved over to the tables with her friends amidst the applause. Quinn acknowledges the wave, but doesn't immediately move from her spot in the middle of the bar. Instead, Quinn looks back at her as Rachel signals the DJ for the next song. She doesn't clap or whistle with the rest of the crowd, but Rachel can feel her smile. And that's all she needs.

The crowd cheers as the familiar guitar chords start off her second selection. Rachel makes sure to deliver on the opening verse.

"_What I like about you, you hold me tight. Tell me I'm the only one, wanna come over tonight, yeah."_

So The Romantics' "What I Like About You" may be pushing the 1980s limit, but it was still released in 1980—that is clearly a 80s song. Santana can just deal with it.

Again, she keeps her eyes on Quinn, unable to look away. And she almost loses the song holding back a giggle as Quinn half-dances, half-struts her way over to Santana. Rachel forces herself to interact with the rest of the room as Quinn settles in, but her gaze is soon cutting back toward her friends.

Now she can see Quinn properly in the light hanging above the table. She's wrapped in a the light's golden aura, her eyes gleaming. Quinn's stare is heavy and lingering, but Rachel doesn't back away from it. Quinn has always had a way of looking at her. That's never changed. Now as she performs, the golden eyes are molten and the lips smolder into a half-smile holding back the burn of a full grin. Quinn was never one to fully play her hand in public, but there's a rawness, an honesty, to the look she's sending Rachel now.

The song draws to a close, and she tears her gaze away, needing a respite. The crowd is just as appreciative as they were after her first selection. And this time, she answers the cheers. "Thank you everyone! Unfortunately, this next song is my last for the evening. I hope you enjoy!"

Rachel leans back from the mike and nods at the DJ. A final shot of adrenaline sends her body tingling as she observes her audience during the instrumental beginning. They're _excited_ to hear her, and Rachel flies into the first verse. The crowd sings with her on the chorus, and she's electric. Sure the song isn't particularly challenging, but that doesn't mean she can't make it special.

The bridge is there faster than she wishes, and her eyes are back on Quinn's golden form. "_Hush, my darling. Don't you cry. Quiet, angel. Forget their lies."_

Quinn is still, an anomaly of calm in the room of jittering movement and noise. And Rachel can't help but look back. She sees Quinn's unbroken gaze locked on her form, eyes wide and unblinking. She sees lips slightly parted and the smooth lines of her face completely lacking tension. In contrast, her shoulders are taut as she sits straight and tall on the edge of her seat.

Rachel smiles in her direction, and Quinn seems to realize her surroundings again, and her lips tilt upward in response. Rachel almost giggles into the trailing lyrics of the Go-Go's "Our Lips Are Sealed," ecstatic with the power of her performance and seeing it come to life in Quinn.

The music dies off, but the fading sound is interchanged with applause.

Rachel loves every second of it.

Getting back to her table of friends is a blur. There's Kurt and Santana. And Rachel's friends from NYADA, and Santana's coworker and Kurt's new boyfriend or friend—she's not even sure. But most of all there's Quinn with a warm, beautiful smile enveloping her into a hug.

"What are you doing here!?" Rachel says as she pulls back from the hug.

"Seeing you perform!"

"But what about your paper? I thought you needed tonight to finish it."

"Done and turned in earlier today. I might have had some inspiration for getting it done as soon as possible. So here I am," Quinn says. Then almost hesitantly, "I hope that's okay."

"Of course it is! You're always welcomed here Quinn—no matter what, no matter when. But should you really be rushing through a paper? I certainly think that—"

"Rachel!" Quinn laughs. "Don't worry about it. It's done, turned in, and now it's my spring break week so I don't want to talk school."

"You make a valid argument. So what did you think?" Rachel says, gesturing to the stage behind her.

"You were amazing," Quinn says tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Really?"

"You always are."

"Chicas!" Santana says loudly into their conversation, "Quit flirting and take some shots! It's a Friday night and Quinnie is here! That's two things to celebrate!"

"Santana, that's almost touching," Quinn says with a raised eyebrow.

"Any excuse to drink," Santana says handing over two large shot glasses. Rachel doesn't bother questioning where the alcohol came from. Santana is very proud of her fake ID and also very proud of her ability to charm any bartender.

"That's more like it," Quinn says. She raises her shot glass, and Rachel mimics her actions. Santana joins, and they cheers together before tossing back.

Rachel is pleased that she manages not to cough as the liquid slides burning down her throat. She licks her lips and takes a breath to steady herself. She turns to Quinn, and takes her free hand. "I'm glad you're here."

Quinn looks back at her, her expression unreadable until the stoic lines of her face soften into a smile. "Me too."

* * *

The next morning, Rachel wakes early. She tosses and turns for a few minutes, hoping to go back to sleep. However, her mouth is dry and her bladder full so she gives up on reclaiming slumber. She shuffles out of her tiny room and into the tiny hallway, past Santana's tiny room, so she can visit the tiny bathroom. Once she's finished freshening up, she walks the three feet into the slightly bigger than tiny living area and kitchen with a bit more pep, looking forward to the day ahead.

Rachel glances at Quinn curled up on the sofa as she passes into the kitchen. She pulls out a tea bag and sets the water to boil on the stovetop. And as she waits, she looks back at Quinn. Sometimes, Quinn seems so much older than she actually is. She's often reserved, and her body has gone through physical trauma—pregnancy and the accident—that most people their age have never had to cope with. It's given her a mature beauty, almost a mysterious energy that attracts all the manner of gazes. But in her sleep, Quinn's features soften and she looks young and innocent and a different kind of beautiful.

The kettle whistles and Rachel jumps. Quinn stirs on the couch.

"Oh no," Rachel says quietly as she hurriedly removes the kettle. She had meant to take the kettle off prior to boiling. She didn't mean to get so distracted… _staring at Quinn_. She feels her cheeks heating up. Quinn is so pretty, but that doesn't mean she should lose track of herself staring at her. At least nothing but the kettle was there to notice.

When Rachel turns back around, Quinn is sitting up bleary-eyed with her sleeping tank riding halfway up her stomach. She has such an excellent figure—lean with smoothly defined skin and muscle. Rachel knows she has to work hard on it. She admires Quinn for it. It has been tough without her trusty elliptical in New York (there was absolutely no room for it in her dorm Freshman year and her apartment this year), but with rehearsals keeping her busy, her NYADA gym access, and the occasional run, she's managed to stay in shape too.

"Rach, what are you doing?" Quinn says, her voice husky and slurred with sleep.

"I am so sorry Quinn! I didn't mean to wake you. I hoped to grab the kettle before it whistled, but I wasn't paying close enough attention. As an apology for waking you up, can I interest you in breakfast?"

Quinn grumbles some noise—Rachel is pretty sure it is not English or meant to be anything identifiable—and then says more intelligibly, "That would be great actually."

The morning passes quickly. Santana rises and grouses her way into the kitchen at some point and then disappears into the bathroom for nearly 45 minutes. By the time she emerges, Quinn is finishing up washing dishes (she insisted because Rachel cooked), and Rachel sips on her second cup of tea. They end up crowded together on the couch with ABC Family airing reruns of one of Santana's guilty pleasure shows.

Sitting next to her, she leans into Quinn. She's found increasingly since high school that she enjoys being close to her. Quinn has always soothed her, composed her, tempered her when needed.

Rachel's thoughts turn to the days ahead. She has a busy week, and then finally it'll be her own spring break. She was disappointed to learn that her and Quinn's spring breaks fell during different weeks this year. But she was delighted when Quinn decided to spend half of her own spring break week in New York with her. With her and Santana, she has to correct herself. Santana is one of Quinn's closest friends too.

The bad side to this is that Rachel has an incredible busy week ahead. But she wouldn't change it for the world. Somehow, someway, she was selected as lead in the marquee spring musical at NYADA. The lead! And she's only a sophomore! The last time a student had done that… Well let's just say she's following in the footsteps of some remarkable performers. But this week was a flurry of final rehearsals, and then Wednesday is opening night at NYADA's small, but prestigious theater. When she told Quinn she got the part, Quinn had promised to be there no matter the circumstances. It worked out for the both of them that Quinn's spring break fell on this week. Quinn would be going home to spend a few days with her mother afterwards, and then it would be back to the grind. As for Rachel, the musical would run through Saturday, and then she would get her own well-earned spring break. Her dads were coming up for her final show on Saturday and staying for a vacation in the city through part of the week.

"Rachel," Quinn whispers. A hand is gently placed on her shoulder and Rachel turns to meet Quinn's gaze, curious.

Quinn nods her head to the left, indicating Rachel's other side, and mouths "Santana." Rachel switches her attention to her left side and bites back a giggle at the sight. Santana had fallen back asleep. Her body is contorted at impossible angles on her third of the couch and her mouth has dropped open.

Rachel shares an amused look with Quinn. She can't help but notice the lightness in Quinn's eyes and how her smile seems to exist through her whole being—a smile so different from the carefully guarded expressions in high school. Quinn's been like this since starting at Yale. Rachel never tires of seeing it. She thinks of that smile and Quinn's features and Quinn's athleticism and then… "Let's get out of here," she says lowly but without hesitation, "I wouldn't mind going on a run."

She needs to exercise anyway. On top of the obvious physical benefits, it's great for relieving stress. After today, every day will be filled with rehearsals and performances. She needs to stay as relaxed as possible. Anxiety causes breakouts and the last thing she wants is a pimply face for opening night. Plus she knows Quinn likes exercise too. _Just look at her_. And for that matter, she knows Quinn likes running in Central Park—she's said as much on her previous visits.

"Sounds good," Quinn says.

They manage to sneak out without waking Santana (which is actually incredibly easy because when Santana sleeps, she _really _sleeps). And then their feet are hitting the pavement rhythmically. Quinn takes longer strides, almost flying between her steps. Rachel's are of a more modest length providing a nice thump of dissonance between Quinn's own touch to pavement.

They breeze through her neighborhood, Rachel leading them block after block with her destination in mind. They don't talk much—just the occasional observation. But Rachel's thoughts are on Quinn.

A little over two years ago... Quinn almost died. But here she is—young and strong and the picture of life as she runs through the streets of New York. Quinn almost died because of her fear. Her fear and idiocy. Her relationship with Finn…it _was_ something real, a construct of the times.

But it wasn't _everything_.

Finn is part of her past. Quinn is…

Quinn had always supported her.

Her throat constricts and her eyes grow teary. She is full of emotion she can't even name. It seeps through her blood with every heartbeat. Quinn had almost _died_, but looking at her now—they're running _together_ through the streets of New York.

She gasps in a breath off rhythm and Quinn throws her a concerned look. Rachel manages a smile, hoping that puts Quinn's concern at ease. That is exactly when Central Park finally comes into sight, and now Quinn's lips tilt into a grin.

Sometimes Rachel thinks Quinn loves New York almost as much as she does. And, for whatever reason, that erases the heaviness. Her and Quinn? They have their whole life ahead of them. There is still so much _unwritten_. The moment that word pops into head, she's a goner. Natasha Bedingfield's pop song almost sings itself in her ears. She tries to keep it under wraps at first, just humming along to the tune. But it only takes a moment before the lyrics are spilling out, and her pace dropping noticeably to be better able to sing it.

They jog lightly along the path, accompanied now with the sound of "Unwritten." It's light and joyful—and Rachel does kind of wonder about how rapidly her emotions changed. It doesn't matter though. "_Reaching for something in the distance. So close you can almost taste it. Release your inhibitions."_

And that's when she notices Quinn.

Rather, that's when she realizes how intently Quinn is focusing on her. Quinn's eyes, wide and gleaming, are settled intently on her rather than the path ahead. Rachel would worry about Quinn's distraction if the memory of her gaze from the night before wasn't so strong. Now, Quinn is biting the side of her bottom lip and the slightest of smiles remains painted on her features. Rachel steals another glance as she sings on, trying to place the look spread across Quinn's face. Quinn has always had a way of looking at her, Rachel actually recognizes. Something that has carried over from high school. Something that Rachel has, in the past, brushed aside as just a characteristic of Quinn.

But Quinn's eyes on her last night, her eyes on her now… She thinks it's almost _adoring_, but then there is something dark and carnal in it too.

Quinn has almost always been respectful of her when she sings. But most people are—Rachel is confident enough to admit that. It's different. _This is different._

But Quinn has always been different in the best and most confusing ways possible.

* * *

The rest of Saturday passes in a blur. And then Sunday is upon her, and she's stuck in rehearsals all day. Quinn disappears into the American Museum of Natural History, which she's been to twice before. That apparently doesn't matter. Rachel gets a text from Quinn almost as soon as she gets home from rehearsals telling her that she's only just now leaving the museum.

Rachel smiles in amusement—Quinn would of course spend most of the day there. There, or the Met, or the MoMA for that matter. Rachel shoots her a text back telling her to be safe and that would she start preparing dinner. She's already thinking about tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, and she knows Quinn will be perfectly satisfied with the choice.

She starts prepping dinner without delay. Santana is currently locked away in her room doing her weekly Sunday night cramming for all of her online classes so Rachel makes sure to include enough for her too.

The first step to cooking? Turning on some music. She clicks on a playlist—songs and bands recommended by her freshman year roommate, Dominique. They got a long just fine, and are still good friends, but Rachel couldn't turn down Santana when she announced she was moving to New York before the start of this school year. Plus the small apartment is definitely an upgrade from a small dorm.

She maybe makes it halfway through the first song without singing along. But Santana no doubt has her headphones in, and Rachel's all alone but for her music. She is certainly not going to hold back.

She dices up some tomatoes and onions, adds vegetable broth and a number of other ingredients. She can't help but halfway dance around the counter as she does. Guitar chords and drums back a keening male singer, and she adds her own voice into the mix, crushing the tomatoes in time to the beat. She drops them into the pot along with remaining ingredients and slides away to start on the grilled cheeses (with substitute cheese for her of course).

She vaguely hears the door to her apartment open, but she thinks nothing of it, too lost into the song and cooking process. _"Get up, get out, get away from these liars 'cause they don't get your soul or your fire. Take my hand; knot your fingers through mine. And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time."_

She feels eyes on her back and turns. She meets Quinn's stare and again is hit with intense hazel, shining with the light from the kitchen. Quinn's gaze _revering_. It's _fervent_. And she smiles faintly, nearly imperceptible.

But Rachel knows what to look for now. Quinn's always had a way of looking at her.

Every time Quinn pleaded that she didn't go through with that stupid wedding. Every time Quinn's told her that she was meant to leave Lima, meant for something more. Every time she ever shared a private moment with Quinn in McKinley hallways or bathrooms, on Yale's campus, in her NYADA dorm. Every time Quinn drops her guard.

And it's here again, to accompany her song, and now Rachel is actually paying _that _look the attention it deserves.

"Rachel?" Quinn says, cutting through Rachel's thoughts, her amusement evident.

"Oh! Quinn! Hi! How was the museum?" Rachel says. She can't help be glad that Santana isn't around because she's certain that her and Quinn were just staring at each other for a few solid seconds without a word passing between either of them.

"Good," Quinn says. She moves closer, a bit of a pout crossing her lips. "You stopped singing. And Snow Patrol? You know how I feel about that band. You can't just stop singing."

"I apologize. You took me by surprise. However, I am glad you enjoyed the song. Now, dinner should be ready momentarily. The soup needs a bit longer and the sandwiches need grilling. You just relax. I imagine you're ready to kick your feet up."

"I'm fine. You're the one who has been in rehearsal all day. Why don't you relax and I finish up?"

"Quinn, really. Take a seat."

"Rachel, really," Quinn says, a light tone of amusement playing across her words. She moves into the small kitchen space.

Hands on her hips, Rachel huffs good-naturedly and shares a smile with Quinn. "Fine, we will finish it together."

* * *

That night, Rachel can't sleep. She banished thoughts of Quinn and _that_ look the rest of the evening, but now that she's lying in bed, her mind races. She thinks about Quinn curled up in the living room. She thinks about Quinn sleeping, and she thinks about catching Quinn looking at her. And _that _look.

Why has she never processed it before? How did she never realize how different it was from the cool composure Quinn normally shows?

_What does it mean? _

Did she just choose not to notice it in the past? Did she just not realize the way Quinn _looks_ at her?

Her friendship with Quinn has always been a rollercoaster of honest exchanges. Even when they weren't really friends, they were ultimately dreadfully real with each other (even after playing those silly high school games of manipulation and subterfuge).

Is Quinn like that with anyone else? Has she ever known Quinn to open up to anyone?

So many questions.

And all that Rachel can tell, now that she _is_ paying attention, is that it has always been _her_ for Quinn.

"And that's not my admitted hubris talking," she says softly to her dark room.

She needs to be sure though. She needs to make sure that the uninhibited, unvarnished look is everything she thinks it is. Part of her scoffs at herself—there's no way. Quinn may be her best friend, but it's unthinkable for her to believe that Quinn has hidden something for so long. That Rachel Berry elicits _that_ raw emotion from Quinn Fabray.

It seems crazy. She would have noticed it before now. She should have. But maybe the way Quinn looks at her _is_ special. Maybe she's just been oblivious. Maybe she has just never connected the dots.

She thinks about Quinn sleeping in the living room. She thinks about the way Quinn's hair falls over her face. She thinks about Quinn's pajama top, riding up to reveal a toned middle. She thinks about Quinn's easy stride and lithe body. She thinks about the raw emotion behind Quinn's eyes as they gaze upon her.

Her hand has edged its way beneath her shorts and underwear, and she sighs with relief as the warm wetness is greeted with some pressure. That relief disappears almost immediately as a need for more pulses through her body. Her fingers circle tightly over the bundle of nerves, the rest of her muscles tightening in response. A soft mewl escapes the back of her throat as her body throbs, and she increases the speed. Hazel eyes and a subtle smile hold her captive. She grits her teeth as she comes, holding back a groan and shuddering around her hand.

Rachel _doesn't _think about how she just came to the thought of Quinn. She _doesn't_ think about how she wants Quinn beside her right now. Instead, she welcomes sleep.

* * *

She spends Monday's classes thinking about rehearsal and about Quinn. Rehearsals are a much safer subject to dwell upon. Anytime she starts thinking about Quinn, she starts thinking about what she did last night.

_There's nothing wrong with what you did_—she tells herself. She's always thought of her sexuality as fluid, and Quinn is certainly…aesthetically pleasing. She knows that. But she also can't help the flush of her skin at the memory of it.

It's not going to stop her from running a test on Quinn's response to her singing. That seems certainly to be the tried-and-true method for earning _that _look.

She just has to get through class and rehearsals first. And lunch with Quinn who joins her at 1:00 p.m. for her hour break. Rachel talks rapidly and in tangents—more so than normal she even recognizes—to the point that Quinn actually asks her if something is wrong. Nevertheless, she still enjoys herself and presence of her company.

After lunch, Quinn takes off for a walk in West Village, and Rachel goes to her afternoon seminar. Then she hits rehearsals, and she finally walks into her apartment a little after 8:00 p.m., exhausted. When she sees Quinn on her couch, however, she feels a renewed sense of purpose. She is _not_ going to think about what she did last night. Instead, she's going to pick the perfect song and run her little experiment.

And if Quinn gives her _that_ look again…

"How was your day?" Quinn says with a soft smile. She's in athletic shorts and a tank, her feet propped up on the coffee table and her laptop glowing in her lap. The TV is off, but a song plays out from the laptop.

Rachel thinks she could get used to seeing Quinn like this when she gets home. Casual. Loose. Welcoming. Someone to come home to. …It's not like she doesn't have Santana living with her, she tells herself hurriedly. "It was good. Exhausting, but good. You and Santana refrained from killing each other I hope. As I do not see her, I am a bit worried."

"She's gone to pick up dinner for all of us. Thai food. I hope that's okay."

"Of course. As long as she gets my usual. I really just want to sit down for a bit," Rachel says, dropping her bag to the ground and plopping down on the other side of the couch.

"Can I get you anything?" Quinn asks, setting her laptop to the side and rising.

"No. Certainly not," Rachel says, moving to stand back up. "You are a guest—"

"Rachel," Quinn interrupts. "Shush. I'm getting more water anyway." She picks up her empty glass off the coffee table, waving it in her hand.

"Fine," Rachel says with a smile. "I wouldn't mind a glass either."

As Quinn walks to the kitchen, Rachel's ears pick up the song playing from the laptop. Coldplay. "'Til Kingdom Come." It's familiar. She closes her eyes, letting the music seep into her skin, rejuvenating. The words begin to pass by her lips, softer than how she might normally sing it. The song beats and lives within her.

"_For you, I'd wait 'til kingdom come, until my days, my days are done. Say you'll come and set me free, just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me."_

She refocuses on the world as the song continues into verse. And _that _look is the first thing Rachel feels outside of herself. Encompassing. Explicit. Demonstrative.

She drowns.

And then she breathes again.

Rachel stares back, and Quinn blinks, before walking forward. "So I know I don't have to ask if you're ready for opening night, but is everyone else?" Rachel barely hears the question. She manages some sort of answer as she takes one of the glasses because Quinn nods, and says, "I can't wait to see it."

Quinn retakes her seat as if nothing has changed.

But for Rachel, everything has.

She sits up straight. She slumps back down. Her eyes never leave Quinn. She opens her mouth. She snaps it shut. She straightens again, and Quinn is looking back at her. Rachel's heart pounds.

Quinn is in love with her.

Quinn Fabray loves her, Rachel Berry.

Rachel opens her mouth to speak, to say—she doesn't even know, but—

The front door slams open. "What up bitches! Who's hungry? Because I'm starving and if you don't move your asses, your food is mine. I didn't get it for you out of the goodness of my heart," Santana says loudly, clattering into the kitchen.

Quinn rolls her eyes and gets up off the couch. She takes a few steps forward, and then looks back at her, hazel eyes warm. "Rachel, you coming?"

"Not that I would eat Berry's crappy tofu," Santana says.

Rachel jumps off the couch and heads into the kitchen. No matter the conversation, she can't banish _that_ look from her mind. Now that she's actually processing it, now that she's no longer glossing over the way Quinn looks at her, she can't _not _make the connection with all those wide, soulful stares. Quinn's in love with her.

* * *

So she didn't exactly implement a controlled environment to test out her hypothesis like she thought she would. She didn't get to pick out the song or the setting (if she had, she totally would have gone for the kill—Christina Perry's "A Thousand Years"), but she still caught Quinn with _that_ look directed at her.

She did initially have some doubts, but after sleeping on it, Rachel is more convinced then ever. Quinn is in love with her. She can hardly focus on her Tuesday classes. Her current professor drones on, background noise to her thoughts.

She's convinced—that wasn't a best friend sort of look. That wasn't even a 'Rachel Berry, you are a true star' sort of look. Rachel has been called egotistical and selfish to her face and behind her back, but no matter how self-centered someway may claim her to be, what she saw displayed across Quinn's features… There's no other explanation.

Quinn has looked at her like that for a very long time. It's only now that she's put it all together.

Quinn's in love with her. Quinn has only ever wanted what's best for her. Quinn almost died for her.

She sniffs once, twice, but she can't hold the tears back this time. She hurriedly gathers her things, thankful that she's in large lecture. Dominique whispers at her, but she manages a smile and waves her off.

She hurries into the women's restroom and lets the door swing shut behind her. Seeing no one else in the small, two-stall bathroom, she slides to the floor, back resting against the door. It takes her a moment to realize exactly why she's crying.

Quinn. And all the _shit_ she had to go through in high school. Having a baby. Getting thrown out. Confused and lost and convinced she's doomed to Lima. Desperate. Alone. Not wanting to be herself. Nearly dead. Paraplegic. Dealing with her sexuality after being raised in that household.

She cries for Quinn Fabray and everything she's suffered.

Eventually, the tears subside. She fiddles with her phone, sending a text to Dominique to assure her that she's okay. The gossip in her is desperate to call Kurt, but this isn't something for her to share.

Besides, she's not even sure what to do with the revelation. Does she ignore it? Does she confront Quinn about it? How does she even feel about Quinn's feelings for her? Rachel is nothing if not thorough in planning for anything. She will analyze this from every angle she can. A personal PowerPoint might be nice for organizing her thoughts…

The bathroom door thuds into her back.

"_Ow_."

* * *

Thankfully, today's dress rehearsal is a breeze. Rachel is pleased enough with her own performance too. Though, there is always room for improvement. The important thing remains that everyone is ready for opening night tomorrow.

It's barely even 6:00 p.m. when she climbs the stairs to her apartment, and she's on a high from her rehearsals. Not to mention her thoughts on Quinn leave her buzzing with more questions. Regardless, the excess energy leaves her wanting more.

Santana is there when she gets home, but to her disappointment, Quinn is not.

But Rachel barely has time to put down her bag before Santana is pulling her back out of the door. "Come on Berry. Let's go drag the nerd away from her stuffy books."

"Where is Quinn? And you should know that 'nerd' is hardly a befitting insult these days. Being an academic is an admirable trait."

Santana sighs audibly and rolls her eyes like it's the last time she'll ever be able to. "At the park. She's been studying all day, and left a couple of hours ago to read some book or another there. Something about knocking out her assignments so she doesn't have to worry about them later. All I know is that you and Quinn could definitely benefit from a little more procrastination in your lives."

"Procrastination is a horrible habit. You should know. You certainly procrastinate enough for the both of us."

"Yeah well I certainly don't have to try."

They keep conversation light as they take the metro to Central Park. Santana tries calling Quinn once they arrive, but the call only goes to voicemail. Santana lets out an unnecessary curse—in Rachel's opinion—and shoots her a text, telling Rachel to do the same.

They stroll on into the park, waiting for Quinn to respond. Eventually Santana's impatience gets the best of her. "She said she was somewhere around the Met and the Great Lawn. I say we split up and look for her. But keep your damn phone on you."

"That sounds like a decent plan, but surely if we just wait a few more minutes—"

"Nope," Santana says shortly. "We got our phones as long as we don't apparently pull a Quinn. So just don't be an idiot."

"Quinn's not an idiot. In fact, I think—"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your lady-boner for Quinn under control," Santana says as she walks away, leaving Rachel flabbergasted in her wake. "Call me if you find her!"

It's hardly the first time that Santana has alluded to something other than friendship between her and Quinn. But it's definitely the first time she has said something after realizing that Quinn loved her. Not to mention the fact that Rachel touched herself to the thought of Quinn just the other night.

But that was different. _Right? _ Rachel thinks on it as she wanders through the Great Lawn, keeping an eye out for a blonde head. Quinn's attractive. She's not ashamed to admit that. Rachel's admitted nothing less before. Quinn really is the prettiest girl she's ever met.

That's all there is to it.

But after everything she knows now… _How do I feel about Quinn?_ Rachel thinks. She also thinks her planned PowerPoint has gotten much longer. There is one thing Rachel is certain of—she just wants Quinn to be happy.

She knows she's not doing a particularly good job of paying attention to her surroundings, but this kind of search is ridiculous. Central Park is huge and the area around the Great Lawn and the Met is still significant ground to cover. She stares at her phone, willing it to ring but it remains silent in her hands. A dark thought suddenly crosses her mind, sending her heart beating erratically. What if something had happened? What if Quinn is unable to answer? What if she's been kidnapped by men praying on young women to add to their prostitution ring? What if—

"_But I'm flying so high, high off the ground, when you're around." _

She doesn't know the song, but she does know that voice. Rachel has managed to get herself off the beaten path into a nook of the park rarely traversed. It's one of those things she loves about Central Park—in a city of millions, with a park used by thousands, she can still find calm solitude. It is even quiet, except for Quinn's mellow alto. The park's obelisk is off to her right, assuring her that she hasn't wandered lost into a supernatural wilderness. And Quinn is behind the trees to her left, wrapped in a brown coat to keep out the spring chill.

"_And I can feel your high, rocking me inside. It's too much to hide."_

She sits with her back against the trunk of a tree, headphones in place. Her beloved early generation iPod is in her lap and not her phone. A quirk of Quinn's. Her phone is perfectly capable of playing music like other smart phones, but Quinn regularly chooses her scratched and cracked iPod from high school instead. Rachel knows it to be sentimental attachment. She understands the desire to keep the inanimate things that help you through a rough time.

Quinn holds a book in her hands, but for now, she's disregarded it. Her eyes are closed. Rachel edges closer. She doesn't want to disturb Quinn and the stillness of the scene, yet she wants to be there. She wants to be part of the scene, a costar to the segment currently playing. Quinn's alto carries the song perfectly, and Rachel can't help but take it all in. Quinn's impossibly beautiful in this moment—in all moments really—but especially this one with the evening sun and chill in the air. But she's also smart, and complicated, and strong, and Rachel's greatest accomplishment was becoming Quinn's friend. She thinks about her desire to touch her. She thinks about wanting Quinn beside her the other night. She thinks about wanting to come home to her.

"_I know, oh yes, I know that we can't, be together. But, I just like to dream."_

Quinn smiles brokenly as those lyrics pass her lips, and Rachel realizes she doesn't just want it to be a dream.

The thought hits her like a thunderclap. It rocks her, stuns her, sends her heart jolting with adrenaline.

She wants Quinn's voice in her ear and Quinn's hazel eyes on her. She wants to protect her, touch her, be with her. She wants to make Quinn happy. She wants her in every sense of the word.

She's in love with Quinn.

"Rachel?"

She jumps, the world tilting and shaking until she's finally back in the present and not consumed by the thought of _Quinn_.

"I-I found you!" She recovers, but the words feel loud and rushed, and surely Quinn _knows_.

"Oh, did I not—" Quinn says, checking her phone and no doubt seeing the missed calls and text messages. "I'm really sorry. Santana's not too angry yet is she?"

"Not yet, I don't think," Rachel says, and she thinks she sounds much more normal. "But we should probably call her sooner rather than later."

"Already on it. Last thing I want is to deal with her bitching at me the whole night," Quinn says as she brings the phone up to her ear.

Rachel giggles as Quinn scowls and rolls her eyes when Santana no doubt picks up. "Yeah, okay, I'm sorry," Quinn says into the phone. A mirthful half-smile crosses her lips. "You too, slut. And yes, I have Rachel here with me."

When Quinn says her name, Rachel trembles with a desire to touch her. To smooth back her hair, to cup her face, to hold her hand, to know her touch. Rachel knows she's doomed. But the thing is… Quinn's eyes never leave hers the whole time.

* * *

"I'm in love with Quinn."

"What?"

"I'm in love with Quinn Fabray, Kurt."

"No, I heard that—I just—_wow_. Really?"

"Yes."

"You're sure? I mean I want you to be sure because this is not exactly how I pictured you getting your happy ending. Though, I suppose it does make sense in a way. You two have always been obsessed with each other."

Rachel plops down heavily on the makeshift bench. This really isn't the time to be talking about it. The curtain is scheduled to rise in 20 minutes, but Kurt arrived early with Santana and Quinn. And suddenly Rachel had to talk to him about it. She had sent him a frantic text message to come back stage.

"I've always admired Quinn, but I've only just realized it goes far beyond that. I want her around all the time. I love having her near me. Her visits to New York and my trips to New Haven are what I most look forward too. And when we're not together, I miss her. I want to talk to her and hear her voice. I love the way she looks at me like I've the only thing in her world. The other night, I even touched my—"

"Lalala I don't want to hear that!"

"Sorry," Rachel says with a faint blush, realizing she got carried away. "She just… She makes my heart race, and I crave her smile. I love her Kurt. It just took me this long to realize it."

"What made you realize it?" Kurt says, sitting down beside her.

"She was reading in the park, listening to music in a quiet, lonely space. And she was singing—"

"Of course," Kurt says.

Rachel ignores him. "She was singing. And she smiled. And I realized how much I wanted her to be in my life. Even with all her flaws."

"Are you sure she has flaws? The way you're carrying on…"

"Yes Kurt," she says with exasperation. "Of course she does. She's an incredibly private person and she can be cold and cruel at times. But she's also patient and kind. She's complex. She's _good_. She's what I want to come home to. She's whom I want to sing to. I want to be the one to make her smile."

"And you want her, as more than a friend?"

"As more than a friend. I already said that I love her."

"Well, I can say that you've said more about Quinn than you ever said about Finn."

"Kurt—"

"No. I'm just pointing it out. It was always you and Finn—the idea of you. It was never just about Finn for you."

"Finn and I, we had our chances. We weren't ready. I wasn't ready. I was stupid and ignorant of the world and what I really wanted. I was scared of everything outside of high school, and Finn was a way to hide my fear," she says quietly. "What I feel for Quinn is… something that's been building for a long time. And Quinn's been hurt. A lot. Physically and emotionally. She's better now. She is meant for the world outside of Lima just as much I am. As you are."

Kurt smiles genuinely. "Thank god for that. So what are you going to do about these…um…feelings for Quinn."

"Confront her with it," she says simply.

Kurt blanches. "That… No beating around the bush huh?"

"Tonight. I didn't even make a PowerPoint to weigh the pros and cons, but it's going to be tonight."

"Maybe you should focus on getting through your opening performance tonight first?"

"Don't fuss. I am more than prepared! In fact I need to go have my makeup finished right now." She stands, smoothing down the skirt of her costume.

"And if Quinn rejects you?"

"She won't."

Rachel walks on, leaving a puzzled Kurt in her wake and already gearing herself up for her opening number.

The musical goes wonderfully. NYADA's intimate, showcase theater is packed, and Rachel earns her own standing ovation.

She wonders once again how she ever thought she wouldn't make it, that she wasn't meant for this. She looks for Quinn when the spotlight dims away. When she sees her, a couple of rows back, sandwiched between Kurt and Santana, her heart leaps into her throat, and Rachel resists the urge to jump down from the stage.

The applause continues as she and the rest of the cast take another bow. When she looks up, Quinn is edging her way to the stage, a bouquet of red roses in her hands. Their eyes meet and Quinn smiles, handing out the bouquet. Rachel takes it, with a breathless smile of her own, letting her hand linger against Quinn's for as long as possible before pulling back.

* * *

There's only a brief after show party. The big party will be after closing night on Saturday. Everyone does have class tomorrow after all. Though Rachel knows for a fact that a number of her peers will be skipping it. She doesn't have any such designs. Attendance is extremely important.

Rachel ushers Kurt, Santana, and Quinn backstage to stay and linger with the cast and crew once the curtain falls. It's not like she was told that they were not allowed backstage. It was just implied it should be kept to those involved in the production. Half the cast has the same idea as her, which unfortunately leads their supervising professor to order all non-cast or crewmembers to leave. Not before Santana gets the chance to shove a bouquet of pink blossoms in Rachel's face or Kurt to tuck a single red rose behind her ear though.

She grins, thanking them both.

"They were expensive so you better take care of them," Santana says with a scowl. Rachel watches with amusement as Quinn unsubtly elbows her. Santana rolls her eyes, but her features relax and a hint of a smile appears. "You did good Rachel."

"Thank you."

"Really good," Kurt adds. "You were amazing!" And whatever jealously and pride that ever separated them is well and truly gone because he definitely means it.

Rachel hugs him, and then seamlessly, without a breath or thought she goes from his arms to Quinn's. And she could stay there forever, wrapped tightly in that embrace with Quinn's hands splayed across her back and against her sides. She feels Quinn breathe. She feels her warmth and her poetic curves. Rachel closes her eyes, better to take in the feeling, to stamp it into her memory just in case everything goes wrong tonight. But it can't. It won't.

"Go on! Everybody out!" the supervising professor shouts again. Rachel's not the only one with friends lingering it seems. She separates from Quinn, and her body shivers with the echo of her embrace.

"I'll see you at home," Rachel says, casting a glance over her shoulder at their professor who is quickly going from red to purple in the face. "Thank you so much for being here. It means the world. When I win my first Tony, each of you will surely be among the first thanked."

"And she's back. Goodnight Rachel," Kurt says with finality.

"Yeah I need a drink after that sap-fest," Santana says, turning away and dragging Quinn and Kurt with her. "Q? Hummel? Are you in?"

"Don't you have to work tomorrow?" Kurt says.

"Whatever. I could do my job in my sleep. The night is young."

Quinn turns back around just before they disappear around a corner. And she smiles in a way that looks like she's trying to hold it back.

Rachel's blood pounds in her ears, and she holds onto that smile, that embrace, and Quinn's bouquet of red roses that she has yet to release all the more. Then she's rushed into the mess of cleanup and preparation for the show for tomorrow night. And it's not for another 30 minutes before she gets to leave, still running on a high from the performance. Still running on a high from Quinn.

Yet for all her bravado about confronting Quinn, each step closer to home sends a pulse of nerves through her. She feels like she's at her front door before she can even take a breath. So she pauses. She stands in the hallway and thinks, for just a second, _who am I to try to be someone special to Quinn?_

But Rachel Berry is not a coward, and her and Quinn haven't made it this far with all the wrongs they've shared for nothing. She is someone special to Quinn already. It's there in Quinn's eyes and the smile that graces her visage.

And Rachel Berry will always chase after her dreams with her all.

Her minute debate and ensuing resolve make for a very anticlimactic moment when she opens the door and steps into her apartment and Quinn is nowhere to be found.

Instead, she hears the shower running. She peeks down the hallway. Santana's room is dark, and hers of course remains undisturbed. The bathroom however is lit. Seeing Quinn's shoes by the door, she knows it has to be her in the shower.

She texts Santana, _'Where are you?'_

The reply comes not even 30 seconds later. _'Out with Hummel having a grand gay time. C u later.'_

Kurt and Santana are a dangerous combination on their own. Rachel wonders if Santana will even try to go into work tomorrow.

She plops down on the couch and takes a steadying breath. With Santana out for the night, with Quinn leaving in the morning for Lima, this is it. She just has to wait for Quinn to get out of the shower. And the idea of Quinn in the shower, and the knowledge that Quinn is actually in the shower, sends her thoughts racing. Of Quinn and her sculpted form, and what Rachel used to pass off as admiration, she knows now is _desire_. Where she once stopped herself from thinking further, she now gives her mind free reign to fantasize on _that_ body and _that_ face and _Quinn._

She jumps when she hears the creak of the bathroom door, only then realizing the shower is off. A patter of footsteps and Quinn is standing before her with towel-dried hair in her tank top and her sinfully short sleeping shorts. Rachel realizes she's staring, but Quinn hardly wears short shorts in public (on account of the scars Rachel knows, and she realizes she aches to kiss every one).

"I thought I heard you come in," Quinn says easily, sliding down next to her. "The bathroom is all yours if you want to hit the showers."

"Thank you. That sounds great," Rachel says and stands without thinking. She even takes a couple of steps forward.

"You were amazing tonight Rachel," Quinn says. "There's no one like you out there."

Rachel stops, and she's certain the world stops with her at least for a moment. What is she doing going to the bathroom!? If that wasn't a lead in, an invitation, something meant to be, she doesn't know what is. It's time. Shower be damned. At least she washed her face of all that heavy stage makeup earlier.

She whirls back around, words rapidly falling from her lips. "Quinn, momentarily I'm going to launch into an a capella rendition of a rather famous pop song. I want you to ignore the fact that it is famous, ignore the fact that many others have used it for their own purposes, and I just want you to listen to it. Really listen to what I'm singing okay?"

Quinn's eyes are wide, a single eyebrow raised—no doubt at her rather aggressive display—but Rachel plunges ahead.

It's slightly awkward at first. To be standing there in front of a one-woman audience that means everything to her. She's not quite sure what to do with arms or the rest of her body for that matter, but she presses on.

And Quinn watches her. Her gaze heavy, her lips slightly parted, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Rachel refuses to look away, and she swears she witnesses a shaky breath passing through Quinn's lips at the first _"I'm yours." _And then she swears Quinn melts, her features softening into an almost sleepy half-smile.

Except for her eyes. Her stare seems to only escalate in intensity.

Invigorated, Rachel sings on. _"But I won't hesitate no more, no more. It cannot wait, I'm yours."_

Rachel almost stops when Quinn's mellifluous alto joined hers. She almost stops again when Quinn stands. And when Quinn holds out her hand, she actually does stop singing for a second, staring at the hand like its her lifeline. Struck mute, she looks up, and Quinn's eyes are dark and consuming.

Rachel takes the hand, takes Quinn in her arms, and they finish the song together.

Quinn edges forward when the last note dies. Their cheeks brush together, and Quinn's breath is hot in her ear. "You're sure?"

"Quinn," Rachel says with amusement, ignoring—for the moment—how fast her heart beats and her body warms at their closeness. "I just sang you a love song proclaiming that I am indeed yours. And you, you've always had a way of looking at me."

"I do?"

Rachel giggles, ecstatic, nervous, and quivering with anticipation.

Quinn pulls back, pouting, to look at her better. "You're not funny."

Rachel steals the pout off her lips. And if Rachel ever thought of Quinn's stares as heavy, her kisses are definitely weightless because she is certain she's floating.

Quinn's hands grip her waist, and then move to her back, and finally to her hair only to repeat the process all over again as if she can't control herself from wanting everything. But Rachel completely understands because she wants all of Quinn too. She runs her hands under the hemline of her shirt and up her back, tracing scars and claiming as much skin as possible. Quinn shivers at that, and Rachel takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into the kiss. When Quinn moans, Rachel is grounded only by the fire being stoked higher and higher in the pit of her stomach. She breaks off, gasping because they're only _kissing_ and it's never been like that before.

Quinn gives her no respite, and trails her lips down her jaw. Rachel releases a moan of her own when Quinn nips and sucks at her pulse point. And then it's her collarbone and back up to her ear, and Rachel isn't quite sure of when she lost control. Quinn's hands are stroking her ribs, up and down, fingers trailing over her stomach. Rachel's no better, her hands cupping Quinn's backside, kneading and caressing. Quinn shifts, her thigh pressing right _there_. Rachel whimpers with need, but she lifts her hands to Quinn's shoulders.

They draw back together. Quinn smiles bashfully, and despite being taller, she's somehow looking up from under her eyelashes at her. It's both endearing and smoldering.

"I… I just want you to know," Rachel says. "Quinn, I… I love you."

Quinn swallows heavily then and takes a shaky breath. "_God_ I love you, Rachel. I've… For so long."

"I'm sorry for being so obtuse."

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for." Rachel traces one of the scars on Quinn's back until Quinn gently grabs her elbow. Quinn pulls the hand away, takes her wrist. She kisses her palm. "I left my fair share of scars on you too. And those? I'm entirely responsible for, and I'll gladly spend a lifetime healing them."

"All you need to do is to keep your eyes on me," Rachel says. She's surprised at how low and husky her voice comes. Also at how fast it shifts the mood. The fire in the pit of her stomach hasn't gone anywhere, and it sparks because Quinn is giving her _that_ look.

This time, they collide together. It's frantic and wanting. Needing. She's pulling Quinn along, but they can't seem to make it but a step without kissing her again. Quinn pins her against the wall in one second, and Rachel arches into her making her tremble with heated kisses the next. Rachel's shirt is off before she can even process it. Then Quinn's tank is removed, and there is _so_ much skin. They finally make it into her room. Rachel closes the door and pushes her down onto the bed, but Quinn is pulling her on top in the same instance. They laugh as they land heavily, but Rachel is straddling Quinn's hips so their amusement dies quickly.

Quinn sits up so that she's on the edge of the bed, and Rachel remains balanced with knees on either side of her hips. They breathe each other in, and Quinn's eyes search hers in the streetlight New York night. Rachel pushes a strand of Quinn's damp hair behind her ear, letting her hand linger. Quinn leans into her touch.

"Whatever you do or don't want Rachel," Quinn says.

Rachel gulps because yes, this is really happening. Everything has changed in the past few days, and she wants nothing but Quinn. And Rachel knows that she's safe and loved and she goes after what she wants. "Touch me," Rachel says, and she smiles shyly at the tremble that passes through Quinn. "I want you."

Quinn turns swiftly, cradling her onto her back. Quinn hovers above her, and then her mouth is hot on the tops of her breasts and her hand gently brushes aside her skirt and why in the world does she still have her clothes on? Rachel burns as Quinn teases with her touch. She shifts a leg and is rewarded with heat. Quinn's jaw tightens, and her eyes nearly roll back into her head. Quinn burns in her hands too. Finally, there's no more games, they strip each other of all material things until it's only Rachel and Quinn and skin and heat.

Then Quinn is touching her where a mere three nights ago, it was only her imagination. It's more wonderful than she could ever have believed. Made even better by each promise of love she caresses into Quinn's skin in return.

She guides Quinn's hand, showing her what she likes. But Quinn seems to need minimal assistance because she's taking Rachel to new heights, and the flames reach higher. It's all given tinder by _that_ look of lust and love in hazel eyes. Rachel's muscles tense and spasm, until finally the sun bursts in her vision and she shakes and shudders, crying out into Quinn's shoulder and feeling arms wrap around her.

She floats, coming down from the high. Quinn kisses her, murmuring "I love you" into it. Rachel feels like the words seep into her body and blood becoming one with her in all the ways she ever dreamed love was supposed to be.

She pushes against Quinn, and when Quinn just grins at her in response, Rachel harrumphs and touches her anyway. She weakens, and Rachel marvels at the power her hands and mouth bring as Quinn complies with her direction. She pays special attention to the scars, tracing her fingers or tongue over each one. Quinn is almost silent the entire time, but she trembles under Rachel's hands. She's hot and wet and soft, and Rachel thinks she could spend lifetimes learning the panes of Quinn's body and mind. But for now, she brings her to ecstasy, and Quinn's hand tightens almost painfully across her wrist when she comes undone. Rachel hardly notices for her attention is consumed by the feel of Quinn's heat and the vision of her head tipped back, mouth agape.

Rachel wants her all over again.

* * *

In the end, she doesn't actually make it to class. Instead, they cuddle and flirt, and Rachel sings. To her pleasure, now that she can openly enjoy it, Quinn's look is unchanged during her songs. They eventually have to rise, time slipping away. She escorts Quinn to LaGuardia, and watches, pleased, as Quinn has her return flight changed to come right back to her on Saturday. She should make it back just in time to see the final show.

They linger next to each for as long as possible, until finally Quinn has to kiss her goodbye or risk missing her flight.

"That wouldn't be a terrible thing," Rachel says. Her voice is muffled, buried as it is, in Quinn's neck.

"When did you get to be such a rebel? Skipping class, encouraging me to abandon my mother…"

"I hardly want you to abandon your mother Quinn," Rachel says pulling back. "It was your idea to come back a day early too."

"I know."

"I hope I've cast enough of a spell on you that virtually any song you'll hear, you will think of me."

"You don't have too much to worry about."

Then Quinn kisses her soundly in the middle of the bustling terminal. She leaves her with _that_ look and a subtle smile. Rachel is positive Quinn remains completely unaware she's doing it. Nevertheless, her heart races.

Her phone rings as she takes in Quinn one final time. She fishes it out of her purse to see that it's her wayward roommate on the line.

"Hello Santana."

"So you finally banged Fabray? Good, maybe she'll stop looking at you all desperate and pathetic like."

"Santana," Rachel hisses. "I would hardly call what me and Quinn did as 'banging.'"

"Whatever, you got some tail. Don't think I didn't come home last night to see some clothes on the floor and a mysteriously absent Quinn.

"You're impossible."

"Hey Rachel," Santana's voice softens, "I'm happy for you. Now, get your ass back over her because I need you to buy me some lunch. And tell me all about it."

* * *

**A/N:** If you made it through, thanks for reading!

A huge, huge thanks to thoughtsinorange for all her input in helping me shape this fic.

I spent a fair amount of time thinking on whether to let Rachel and Quinn get intimate, but I ultimately thought, considering the circumstances and context, that it was appropriate. However, if you think it's out of character, I totally get where you're coming from.

The songs sung in story are, in order:

- Pat Benatar, "We Belong"

- The Romantics, "What I Like About You"

- The Go-Go's, "Our Lips Are Sealed"

- Natasha Bedingfield, "Unwritten"

- Snow Patrol, "Open Your Eyes"

- Coldplay, "'Til Kingdom Come"

- Jem, "Flying High"

- Jason Mraz, "I'm Yours"

Finally, The Airborne Toxic Event's "Sometime Around Midnight," with a single line, inspired this fic idea and the title. If you want to listen to the songs above, feel free to search for them or visit my tumblr at justtripping where I posted all the links to the songs.

Thanks for reading!


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